


Vanilla Twilight

by Drawkwamai



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Car Accident, Drabbles, M/M, Marco is already dead so nothing graphic, One Shot, Saddness, in the past tense, vague mentions of other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1266205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drawkwamai/pseuds/Drawkwamai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean reflects back on all those months ago when he got a sickening call after that rainstorm. </p><p>Maybe there is a little hope for him after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanilla Twilight

Jean took a long drag on his cigarette and then glanced down at his watch. The bright green screen lit up in his face, screaming that it was 5:32 in the Goddamn morning. He shook his head and took another drag, the smoke pouring into his lungs sending the rush of nicotine deep into his blood stream. He let it out and his eyes fell halfway. Damn it to Levi for getting him hooked on the cancer sticks. He had been feeling really low one year after and Levi handed it to him, telling him that it would take the edge off of things. It seemed like Levi was an expert on dealing with grief—it seemed like the older man had lost everything—so he took it without a second thought. He assumed there were worse things to get hooked to, so he could live with the dirty smoking habit. Marco would tell him to lay them off, but…that was the catch: He wouldn’t have gotten hooked if Marco was still here.  
He glanced tiredly up at the sky, noting the light blue haze around the edges of the sky. He tapped on the end of a cigarette, watching the ashes fall off the side of the building and disappear into the streets below. Maybe somebody would think it was snowing—it was sure as hell cold enough. He let out another heavy breath and extinguished the smoldering end of the cancer stick; he let it fall to the street as well, watching it with a sick feeling in his gut as it hit the ground. Smooshed just like that.  
Like Marco’s chest when he hit the steering column at 60 miles per fucking hour. Jean had told him to stay the night—he had promised that it wouldn’t matter and that things would be better tomorrow. But, like the insisting guy he was and the giving in kind of guy Jean was he let him go out into the pouring rain late at fucking night. Damn it, they didn’t even find him till the next morning squished in his car and hanging upside down. They said he probably hadn’t felt a single thing, but the probably part set Jean’s teeth on edge. He knew he had probably seen the car coming and had probably tried to turn out of the way. But, the damn concrete was too wet and the two cars went head long into each other. Jean wondered how it felt in those last seconds—those moments before the steering wheel entered his chest and shredded his heart and lungs to pieces.  
Jean shook his head and chuckled to himself. Two years felt like two days more often than not. Therapists said it would get better—that grief was just a lucid thing and that he would have to accept that it hadn’t been his fault for Marco dying in that crash. But, no matter how he looked at it, he had let him go out into that rainy night believing Marco was good enough. Better than the weather—better than the slick roads…better than the other driver.  
Had Marco thought of him? Had he apologized to Jean for leaving that night thinking he was better than the rain? Jean secretly wished he had felt guilty, but he could never hold onto that thought. Marco would’ve felt guilty—he felt guilty if he didn’t text Jean all day—but he would’ve felt guilty beyond imagination. Jean didn’t want to think of Marco feeling that guilty—it made his stomach twist violently and tears spring to his eyes.  
“Stop…” Jean groaned to himself and turned away from the railing, but his hand stuck to the metal. Damn it, he hadn’t slept in days and man did he feel it. He swore he heard a voice telling him to come downstairs…to come to bed...to sleep for once in two days. It said that maybe they could get coffee when he woke up and then maybe they could go get some lunch. And then maybe they could go play mini golf or bowling with Connie and Sasha; it said that Sasha could probably eat enough popcorn for all of them if they went and saw a movie.  
Jean sighed and his amber eyes fell halfway. His hands dislodged from the railing and he slowly scooted towards the door.  
It said that there were some good movies—maybe they could all get together and see them all together. Maybe he could take Mikasa’s invitation and get some lunch together—it said that that would be nice; he had had a crush on her in their early days, but it had dissolved into nothing when Jean realized that he didn’t quite feel that way about her. Maybe he could go to park or something with Armin and try not to get into a fight with Eren if Armin brought him along. Maybe him and Eren could get along for once.  
Maybe…years from now…he could live without him. Maybe he would give away the clothes and the blankets that no longer smelled like Marco. Maybe he would stop going through old picture albums.  
Maybe he could get a good night’s sleep and eventually try dating again. Maybe find somebody new who was nice too. Armin was a good person and man did he care. Maybe Armin would get him to break his smoking habit because it tasted horrible when they kissed.  
Maybe Marco would become a warm fuzzy rather than something painful. Maybe things could be different if he tried again.  
Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a loooonnng time back and never got the nerve/I couldn't find it till now. Drabbleness of Jean and just one of the many forms of Marco dying and the horrible saddness to follow suit. BLEGH.


End file.
